am-books Chapter 233
Chapter 233
Chapter 233
[Translator – Peptobismol]
Chapter 233: The Black-Clad Man (1)
“My God.”
Examiner Vanartier groaned. Inside the hangar was a scene from hell. The stench of blood was so overpowering it made his head spin. Eleven bodies, mutilated beyond recognition, lay sprawled in a sea of blood.
“Who could have done this...”
He had entered the hangar about three hours after Ronan’s group had passed through the inspection point. When the guards he had assigned didn’t return, he came to check and found this massacre.
He followed the bloodstains. It wasn’t ordinary for guards who had activated their marks to be killed in a single blow. Most of the bodies were scattered near the sloop that Ronan’s group had arrived in.
‘Was something hiding inside the Emissary’s ship?’
The previously clean Red Gale had turned into a ghost ship once again, stained with blood and entrails. The examiner, as if possessed, entered the ship’s cabin.
He checked the bedroom, dining room, and captain’s quarters, but found no significant clues. It was while he was inspecting the lowest level storage room that he noticed something.
“What is this...?”
His eyes widened. In one corner of the storage room, there were traces of mana, like black stains. They were so subtle that one could easily mistake them for mold if not paying close attention.
But the examiner, having used his eyes for a long time, recognized it. This was the trace left by a being that had concealed itself.
The faint, sinister aura was unforgettable. No matter how much time had passed, he could not forget it. He murmured in a trembling voice.
“...H-he has returned?”
Bang! The examiner hurriedly exited the cabin. He almost tripped over the steps and collided with the walls, but that didn’t matter now. He burst out of the hangar and shouted to the waiting guards.
“This is an emergency! Report to His Majesty immediately and gather the troops!”
****
The sun had set. The dying twilight cast a dim light between the buildings. But even under the dusky night sky, Adren’s radiance did not fade.
The grand plaza of Adren, entirely covered in crystal, shimmered beautifully even under the night sky. The lights beginning to brighten the streets hinted at the nightlife that was about to unfold.
People who had finished their day’s work wandered freely around the plaza. Most were human, but occasionally elves and beastkin could be seen.
It felt like a village made up of only the wealthiest people on the continent. Looking around, Ronan spoke.
“Honestly, I think I could live here. The food is damn good.”
He was holding a giant turkey leg. Its crispy exterior and juicy interior were exceptional. The seasoning was perfect, quenching his parched stomach.
“How... how can it taste this good...?”
Aselle, beside him, nodded. He was slowly eating a waffle as big as his head. The cream messily smeared around his mouth was a testament to its deliciousness.
“It’s an extravagant city. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Shullifen muttered in disbelief. Unlike the other two, his hands were empty, having already devoured three bowls of meat stew before moving. Ronan spoke.
“So, you didn’t sense anything suspicious either? No information?”
“No, nothing...”
“Same here.”
“Right.”
Ronan scratched his head at Shullifen’s response. He hadn’t uncovered any significant information either. He had been on alert the entire time they wandered the city, but there was no sign of Nebula Clazier.
Ronan raised his eyebrows. It was surprisingly spacious and quite full. There were about twenty seats, including the bar stools. The sweet smell of alcohol tickled his nose.
“Hello.”
“Welcome. You’re a face I haven’t seen around here. Come, have a seat.”
An old man who seemed to be the owner greeted him warmly. He was behind the bar, polishing glasses. Ronan sat at the bar and ordered a drink.
“I’m from out of town. Give me your best.”
“So, you’re an outsider. Then you must try our brandy. It’s a specialty you can only taste in the City of Dragons.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Ronan chuckled. He liked the relaxed atmosphere, where no one except the owner paid any attention to him. He could gradually ask about the cult and Alivrihe while enjoying his drink.
“...Hm?”
As Ronan was slowly looking around the place, his gaze fell on the owner’s left arm. The movement under the shirt was slightly unnatural compared to the right.
“Sir, is your left arm...?”
“Hmm? Ah, sharp eyes you have. It’s a prosthetic arm, as you might have guessed.”
“A prosthetic arm.”
The owner casually answered as he placed a glass of amber brandy in front of Ronan. Ronan repeated the word, thinking.
Alivrihe, one of the founding members he was looking for, was known for being a master at making prosthetic limbs. It could be related to him. Ronan asked.
“Do you know who made that arm? I know it’s a strange question.”
“Not at all. But it’s been so long, I can’t quite remember. Hmm, I clearly remember the pain when it was cut off, though.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”
“It was truly awful. I can tell you about it if you don’t mind. So...”
The owner was about to start his story when the door behind creaked open. Glancing at the entrance, the owner smiled warmly.
“Welcome. Judging by your appearance, you must be an outsider too.”
There was no reply. What a rude fellow. Ronan thought as he took a sip of his brandy. His eyes widened.
“This is amazing...!”
It was one of the top five drinks he had ever had, in both his past and current life. Such a rich flavor. The sweet aroma filled his mouth, definitely worthy of pride.
Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps stopped next to Ronan. The silent customer finally spoke.
“The strongest drink... no ice.”
“Sure.”
The owner nodded. Ronan’s hand, just about to lift his glass again, froze in mid-air. The voice was familiar, very familiar. Before he could turn his head, the customer sat beside him.
“Well, well, look who it is... saves me the trouble of finding you.”
“You.”
Ronan turned his head. A man in a black coat was looking at him. His pale face was flushed, indicating he had already had a drink somewhere.
It was the man from Aurora Skar. There was no killing intent, but the intimidation was still there. Ronan slowly moved his hand to his sword hilt. The man, brushing his long hair back once, propped his chin on the bar and spoke.
“So... hic, where is Navardose?”
[Translator – Peptobismol]